


A Christmas to Remember

by FrenchRoast



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchRoast/pseuds/FrenchRoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin & Belle’s first Christmas before, during, and after the curse. Not necessarily in that order.</p><p>It went a little darker than I intended in some parts. No spoilers for S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas to Remember

Mr. Gold stared through the glass of his shop door as he turned the “open” sign to “closed.” He darkened the lights; outside, the sun had set, and wind swept up the few leaves left over from fall. All the trees had given up their leaves to the cold--all but one, of course. The Mayor’s apple tree never ceased to offer up plump, ripe apples, no matter the actual season. Regina’s curse let her bask in what she assumed would be an eternal summer of power. Mr. Gold knew better--one day, roughly 28 years from now, the Savior _would_ break the curse. Then he would be free to leave to find his son, his Baelfire. Bae was all he had left.

As Mr. Gold stepped outside and locked the door to his shop, he thought of Belle. He had pushed her away, that day so long ago, a day he wished he could forget. Yet again, he had been too scared of being vulnerable, of losing his power, and it had cost him dearly. But Belle and Bae, he reminded himself, had both paid a much heavier price for believing in him. Bae was lost, alone, likely terrified in a world nothing like the one he had grown up in. And Belle...his unexpected, unhoped-for love, whom he could have protected, could have saved...if only he had realized how cruel her father would be. 

He would never be reunited with Belle. 

Twenty-eight years is a long time to sit, and wait, and contemplate the mistakes of his life, Mr. Gold thought as he walked by his large, empty house. “A good life,” he said with a dry laugh, recollecting his request of the Evil Queen. “As if that’s even possible for the Dark One.”

Walking further into town, Mr. Gold saw the large Christmas tree and the warm glow of the lights strung around the entrance to Granny’s diner. A lump began to rise in his throat, but he kept it at bay. It was hard not to hate the festivities, meager as they were in Regina’s cursed town; the lights and off-key carolers standing outside Granny’s only reminded him of what he had lost. Belle had loved Christmas. 

******

“Can I ask you a question?” Belle asked as she dusted the chair across the table from Rumplestiltskin.

“You just did, dearie, so I suppose you can,” he said with an impish grin. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Hardly,” Belle said with slightly annoyed voice. “You know what I meant.”

“What question would you like to ask the Dark One? Let me see if I can answer without your asking,” he said, bringing his fingers together, and drumming the fingertips of one hand against those of the other. “No, the golden goblet on display is not the grail King Arthur has frittered his days hunting for; yes, I do have it, but no, I shan’t tell you where it is. And no, the rumors you’ve heard about me turning people I dislike into slugs are untrue; I turn them into snails or mice. Yes, perhaps I should think of turning them into something more useful, but…” This went on for some time; Belle was done dusting the room before Rumple stopped answering completely useless questions she’d never intended to ask.

“and if you really must know, yes, I do despise the smell of--”

“RUMPLE!” 

Belle’s shout startled him so much that he jumped and toppled backward in his overly ornate chair. Belle tried to stifle her laughter, but failed miserably. Rumple looked rather put out, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he stood up and magicked the chair back into place.

“Oh, so I amuse you, do I?”

“Oh, Rumplestiltskin, even you have to admit that was worth a laugh. And you never let me ask you my question!”

“I didn’t?”

“No!” she said, shaking the duster at him in mock disapproval.

“So you let me blather on like a fool? What kind of servant are you?”

“A patient one, apparently.”

“Fine, fine, dearie. What’s your question, oh Patient One?”

Belle sighed. They were having such fun now, and she didn’t want to weigh down the mood...but she did still want to ask her question, especially if she would be spending the rest of her days in this castle. Fortunately, her stint in the dungeon had been short-lived, which made her confinement to the castle far more bearable. Now it was a matter of seeing if the Dark One would let her have some small pieces of her former life back, but Belle didn’t want to rush him, either. What Belle didn’t know was that, despite his attempts to fight it, Rumpelstiltskin had already grown quite fond of his new servant in the short time since she had come to live in his castle. He already cared more for her than anyone except Bae; given that, there was little he would refuse her.

“Do you think...would it be okay if I were to have a few decorations in my room for Christmas? I’m not saying I want a tree or anything, but perhaps some paper snowflakes or some holly.”

“Why don’t you want a Christmas tree?” 

“Well, I thought...I guess I assumed...you’re not really a Christmas sort of person. It’s only a week away and you never asked me to get out any decorations or prepare a special menu or anything. And I understand,” Belle insisted. “I can see how someone called ‘The Dark One’ might not be very into Christmas.”

Rumplestiltskin frowned. “Yes, I suppose I _do_ give off more of a Halloween vibe.” 

“Halloween?”

“A marvelous festival celebrated in another realm. Don’t trouble yourself with it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Hmm. I’m afraid I’ve never had a proper Christmas,” he told her. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. Though apparently a tree isn’t required?”

“I have a suggestion where to start.”

“You’re quite full of yourself today, aren’t you dearie?”

Belle ignored the question. “We’ll start with eggnog.”

“Egg...what?” For once, Rumplestiltskin discovered he was genuinely perplexed. 

“It’s a Christmas drink. My favorite Christmas drink, if you must know. The secret ingredient is nutmeg.”

“Nutmeg? What about allspice?”

“Doesn’t taste very nice.” Belle made a face.

“Cinnamon?” 

“I can’t believe you’d think of putting that stuff in. Look, good eggnog doesn’t need cocoa or cloves, or vanilla, or mace. There’s nothing that can take nutmeg’s place.”

“I had no idea you cared so much about these things,” Rumple said. “Your cooking doesn’t strike me as quite so...nuanced.” 

“It’s one of the few things I learned to make before I came here. The recipe was handed down to my mother from her father, Good King Wenceslas himself,” Belle boasted, slightly annoyed by Rumplestiltskin's implied insult towards her cooking. _Burnt toast is what you get for demanding a princess as your servant. It’s not as though I’ve been trained as a chef,_ Belle wanted to say. “If you like the eggnog, we can go from there. And you’re going to like it.”

“We’ll see dearie,” Rumplestiltskin said with no small amount of skepticism. “I’m sure it can’t be worse than your first attempts in the kitchen.” 

“Shall we make a deal, then? If you like the eggnog, you’ll help me deck the halls, trim the tree, and have a proper Christmas feast.”

“And what do I get if I don’t like it? You’re already my servant. I can’t think of anything else you’ve got to offer me. That much Christmas is a lot of magic. You can’t expect me to trade something for nothing.”

“You’re going to like it, but if you insist,” Belle said, sauntering up to him with the duster in hand, “I’m sure we could come up with something. I’ve read a lot of books. I can be very...creative when I’m motivated.” She leaned over and whispered the price she would pay if he wasn’t impressed by the eggnog. “Now, keep in mind--you must be honest whether you like it or not, and if you try to pretend you don’t, I still get my Christmas.”

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows. “Okay dearie, you have a deal. Go make your eggnog.” He waved her away. Once she had gone, he giggled and clapped his hands in delight. If this went the way her cooking usually did, he was sure to win. 

Before he knew it, Belle returned with a glass full of a pale concoction. 

“You try it first. I’ll not have you trying to poison the scary monster,” he insisted. She took a sip. 

“See? Not poison. Your turn. And remember, you have to be honest.” 

“Of course,” he said dismissively. He tilted the glass back, taking a nice, long drink. Swallowed. He slammed the glass down on the table. “CURSES!” he shouted angrily. 

“What’s wrong?” Belle asked, suddenly worried.

He looked over at her. “I like it,” he said with a frown. “I like it quite well, actually.”

Belle laughed. “I told you!”

Rumplestiltskin sighed, annoyed that he’d lost. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a Christmas tree and silver bells and copper kettles or some such nonsense now. I never should’ve agreed to this.”

“Oh, come now, Rumplestiltskin. Don’t be a spoilsport. It’s about to be Christmas--the most wonderful time of the year!”

******

In the bowels of the hospital psych ward, Belle looked up at the tiny window in her padded cell. It was chilly, and Belle had no blanket, no sheets--for some reason, she was on suicide watch and wasn’t allowed to have anything but the barest essentials, even though it had never occurred to Belle to kill herself. She was bored, and her meds kept her eternally tired, but she wasn’t suicidal. Belle longed to live, to go outside. She wondered what day it was; her only clue to the passage of time was that window, which at least told her when it was day and when it was night. She wondered what she looked like; it was easy to determine her hair color (brown), but without a mirror, anything further, even the color of her eyes, was a mystery. Belle had no idea what had happened, why she’d been left in here for so long, nor why the nurse who brought her food and her pills seemed to hate her.

She tried to think of a happy memory to distract herself, but Belle had none. No memories at all, actually. Maybe that’s why she was locked up. 

“Dinner,” the nurse announced from the door. After a few clicks as the door was unbolted, the nurse stepped in with a plate of mushy, lumpy food. Next to the plate, along with Belle’s usual medicine-laced orange juice was a small glass half full of some sort of white liquid. 

“Mashed cauliflower, turnips, stewed cabbage, and chicken livers,” the nurse informed Belle. “There were some sugar cookies donated by the nuns, but I needed a snack. We can’t have you getting cavities. I did let you keep the eggnog. Merry Christmas,” she said before slamming the plate down, which sloshed some of the eggnog onto the floor. She left, and once Belle heard the last of the locks turn, she went up to the plate. 

As usual, they hadn’t given Belle any utensils to eat with, so she decided to start with the eggnog. To her surprise, it was cold, sweet, and oddly good. It reminded Belle of that first Christmas with...and then the memory was gone as the taste left her tongue. She drank again, and this time, she recalled a dark, snow-covered castle. Another sip. A flash of a man--or was he a man? His face glittered. A gulp, and Belle remembered drinking this same drink with the man, in front of a large, dazzling fir tree. They were laughing. Belle went to take another sip, but this time, nothing. 

She had run out of eggnog.

******

Rumplestiltskin flipped the sign on his shop from “open” to “closed” as he did at the end of every day that wasn’t spent dealing with some kind of magical calamity. Which, ever since he’d brought magic back to Storybrooke meant that this was an abnormal day, but no matter. He locked the door and began his walk into town. The town Christmas tree was lit up even more brightly this year, if that were possible. The night was silent, and the air was frozen. Most everyone was shut inside their warm homes. Rumple quickened his pace as much as he could given the encumbrance of his limp. Fortunately, his destination wasn’t too far. He didn’t even have to knock on the library’s doors; Belle had been watching from the window and quickly brought him inside.

“Rumple, it’s cold outside. You should be wrapped up more warmly than that,” Belle said as she took the thin coat he’d grabbed absentmindedly before he left. 

“Yes, Belle, I’m well aware that I didn’t make the best wardrobe choice before coming here, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Belle smiled. “I suppose in that case, you’re forgiven. Merry Christmas, Rumple.”

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” Rumple said, smiling back. Before he had time to fully appreciate how lovely Belle looked, even in a ridiculous Christmas sweater, he noticed a popping, crackling sound coming from the upstairs. “Do you hear what I hear?”

“The chestnuts!” Belle yelled, and she fled upstairs to her apartment kitchen. Rumple made his way after her, and reached her kitchen in time to hear a loud splash and the sizzling sound of water being thrown onto a fire. “I hope you like your roasted chestnuts very well done,” she said with a sigh. “And your chicken drenched with soapy dishwater.” It was too much for Rumple; he burst into laughter right there in the kitchen doorway. 

“Oh Belle,” he said when he was finally able to manage intelligible speech, “you make me so happy.”

Belle threw him a puzzled look. 

“A year ago, Belle, I didn’t even know you were still alive. I’d have eaten burnt chestnuts and soapy chicken every day if I’d have thought it would bring you back,” he explained. “Of course, seeing as you _are_ back…”

“Granny’s is open,” Belle interjected. “We could go there for dinner, and come back later for eggnog and dessert.”

“I quite like the sound of that.” He started to turn to get out of the doorway so Belle could leave the kitchen, but Belle very loudly cleared her throat. “What?”

“Look up.” There, above the doorway, hung a tiny bit of mistletoe. 

_Clever girl,_ Rumple thought with an inward grin. 

“I’d intended to ensnare you after dinner, but seeing as we’re here now,” Belle trailed off as she approached. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and then lightly, teasingly kissed him. She pulled back slowly, leaving only a few inches between their lips. “You know, it really is far too cold outside.”

“It is snowing a great deal,” he agreed, without so much as a glance at the window.

“I think we should have dessert first,” she said, pulling back slightly but grabbing his hand as she did so, leading him away from the kitchen. “If we’re still hungry afterwards, we can have something delivered.” 

As he followed Belle back towards the bedroom, Rumplestiltskin decided he was a Christmas sort of person after all. This was the most wonderful time he’d had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by the song “Nutmeg” by John Legend (performed for A Colbert Christmas). [Link to the song is here.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYf2yFD-iIk)


End file.
